


If it's the Beaches

by Gillian_Beilschmidt



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Death, F/M, Family, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gillian_Beilschmidt/pseuds/Gillian_Beilschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the day of German reunification, and Gil realizes the Prussian state is finally gone. Featuring Germany, Hungary (PruHun), and the Bad Touch Trio. How do you say good-bye to the ones you love? 'Don't say it's over, cause that's the worst news I could hear, I swear that I will do my best to be here just the way you like it.' - If it's the Beaches, the Avett Brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> October 3, 1990, is the day of German reunification, the day that East and West Germany formed into a single state. In Hetalia canon, Prussia refers to Germany as 'West', indicating that he is East Germany, which is actually different from the nation-state of Prussia. The Prussian state was formally dissolved in 1947, but like Hima did, I'm going to morph East Germany and Prussia into the same person for the sake of the story. Thanks for reading! And German's not my first language, so if you see any glaring typos, feel free to review/PM me.

Gilbert Beilschmidt knew it the moment he woke up.

It was very subtle; his body still hadn't recovered from the hard years spent under that bastard Soviet Union's control, so he constantly felt weak or ill. But this…this was different. He knew he was dying, because the election was today. Today was the day that their people, his and Ludwig's, would vote on whether or not to unite the two German states.

The weak pulse in his pale, veiny wrist told him what they had chosen. He wasn't angry. He wasn't even bitter. He felt almost relieved. He knew that Ludwig would take care of his people, just as he had taken care of Ludwig's people as he was growing up.

But that didn't mean it was easy.

He opened his slightly dimmed crimson eyes on that fresh, chilly October morning and rose out of the bed that he kept on the second floor of Ludwig's Hamburg apartment. He went to the window and forced it open with more than his usual difficulty, but the view was well worth it. He could see little German children running in the streets with a ball, screaming and laughing in a way that brought a smile to his chapped lips. There were two children that reminded him of Italy and Holy Rome down there, but maybe he was just becoming a sentimental old man. That was probably it. The wind blew down from the bakery down the street, filling his lungs with the smell of good, hearty German food. _Gott_ , he loved Hamburg. It was one of his favorite cities. He had missed it so much under the occupation, when he had been cut off from the West. He loved Berlin too, of course, but he couldn't go over there. It had been barely a year since that horrific wall had fallen, and he had no intention of spending his last day on earth there; even if he had some of his happiest memories with Old Fritz there. No way. There were simply too many memories, good and bad.

Instead, he shuffled over to the phone attached to the wall, something Ludwig had forced him to buy so he could ostensibly "keep him out of trouble". Both brothers knew that was really code for "so you can call me if you get too sick", but neither of them would ever say that. That's not how Germans dealt with things. He waited until his hands stopped shaking and picked it up, dialing in the numbers he knew by heart.

" _Hola_ ," came a chipper voice. " _Quien es este_?"

"It's Prussia," Gilbert said slowly, running a nervous hand through his shockingly white hair. "Listen, I…I need to talk to you." He forced himself to sound upbeat. After all, this was Antonio, one of his oldest friends. Talking to Francis would be much harder. "Can you come by Lud's today?"

"Ah, _Prusia_ ," the Spaniard said warmly. "Is everything alright, _amigo_? You sound more tired than usual."

As if on cue, Gil coughed hard, and made the mistake of looking at his hand. It came away bloody. " _Scheisse_ ," he muttered. He didn't have time for this.

"What was that?"

"Ah, nothing. So, can you come by? I kinda need to know," he said in a rush.

" _Si, si_. Want me to invite Francis?" His friend asked.

" _Ja_ , that'd be great. You know where Lud lives, right?" He queried, relieved that he wouldn't have to talk to Francis on the phone himself. The Frenchman could read him like a book, whereas Antonio wasn't necessarily able to pick up on Prussia's emotions, at least not as much.

" _Si_ , I'll see you this afternoon!"

"Great," Gilbert said, forcing himself to sound enthusiastic. "See you in a few hours, man." He hung up and turned back to look at his room and felt a wave of nostalgia pass over him. A framed photo caught his eye from his dresser. He got dressed in a flash and went over to the photo, cradling it affectionately in his callused hands. It was a picture of himself and Hungary, from after her divorce with Austria. The brunette leaned heavily on him, grinning up at the camera with a mischievous gleam in her large sea glass green eyes, dressed in traditional Hungarian clothes. She looked stunning. He flushed a little when he saw the tender smile on the face of the albino standing next to her, his arm tightly squeezing her shoulders as if he could see into the future, as if he could see the horrors that awaited them in the next world war.

"Elizabeta," he murmured. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was only eight thirty. Being a soldier most of his life made him an early riser. He had time to go see her, he figured. He walked down the stairs, purposely making a lot of noise because he wanted Ludwig to think he was feeling better, that he had some of his energy back. The effort cost him some short breaths, but it was worth it when he came into the kitchen and saw his younger brother in that stupid apron that Italy had bought him a few years back, frying some potatoes and eggs for their breakfast.

"Bro, you know that apron hurts my awesome eyes," he teased as the other German turned from his stove to give him a half-hearted scowl.

"I see you're feeling better," Ludwig said, electing not to reply to his older brother's needling. He slid a plate of fresh food in front of him and went back to his stove.

"Er, yeah," Gilbert lied, stuffing his mouth with food even though he wasn't that hungry. "I feel like a Teutonic Knight again, I really do." Okay, maybe he was laying it on a bit thickly. But Ludwig looked happy at the idea, if skeptical. Gilbert's heart twisted a little at the thought of leaving his little brother alone. _Gott_ only knew that he was more than capable of taking care of himself. And he had Italy and Japan, and Gilbert knew that Austria and Hungary would look after him too. No, he had no real reason to worry. He had made sure that he took the brunt of the consequences of World War II, refusing to let his baby brother be occupied by that crazy Soviet bastard. No, far better for him to have to deal with England, America, and France (his heart clenched a little at the thought of his old friend) than that Soviet bastard. All of a sudden, the potatoes in his mouth felt like sand, and he felt sick at the thought of living under the former Soviet Union. But he didn't have time for that. He had too much to do today.

"Hey, Lud, can I borrow your car?"

" _Was_? What do you need it for?" Ludwig asked with a slight frown, coming down to sit across from his elder brother at the table. Again, Gilbert was struck by how huge his little brother was. The solidly built German man easily passed six feet, and he was as smart as a whip, more intelligent and stronger than Gilbert had ever been, even in his prime. Those sharp blue eyes studied him carefully, taking in the Prussian man's toothy smile and the shadows under his usually vibrant eyes.

"I'm gonna go see Elizabeta," he said offhandedly, shifting the food around on his plate so he wouldn't have to meet his brother's gaze.

" _Ja_ , if you're careful," Ludwig said finally. "Are you sure you're, ah, well enough to drive?" Usually people visited Gilbert, not the other way around, so he wouldn't have to ask Ludwig to drive him. It was too much for the albino's pride.

"Please, you underestimate the awesome me," Gilbert said, rolling his eyes. "And I'm sure Liz is pining away for me." He laughed, a little bitterly. He missed his best friend like hell, but sometimes being around her was just too painful. Even if he wasn't in love with her, being around her just reminded him of the years spent under Soviet control, and neither of them wanted that. But he had to see her.

"Of course," Ludwig said with a tiny smile. "Give her my regards, will you?" His brother was very fond of the Hungarian woman, partly because she sometimes managed to keep Gil in line. But only sometimes.

"Sure thing, West," he said with a grin, catching the keys that his brother threw at him. "I'll see you in a few hours. Oh, and if Antonio and Francis come by before I get back, don't let them in my room, _ja_? Francis has a spare key, so you may have to watch out for him."

" _Warum_ —agh, alright," Ludwig said grumpily. He didn't really have the heart to deny his brother whatever he wished, even if he wasn't terribly fond of his idiot friends. He felt like a parent sometimes, instead of the younger brother. "Be careful."

" _Ja, Mutter_ ," Gil said, ruffling the younger man's perfectly combed hair affectionately before leaving the small German flat, excited at the prospect of taking his brother's beautiful car for a spin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that one can't make a day trip from Germany to Hungary, so we'll just assume he drove to the airport and then flew to Budapest, yeah?

\--Budapest, Hungary--

Gilbert regarded the beautiful little townhome nervously, shifting the bouquet of wildflowers from hand to hand anxiously. When was the last time he had actually visited Liz in her home? He loved Hungary the country, but it had been hard hit during the war, and even now, several decades later, traces of war were everywhere, in the shadowed eyes of her people, in the houses destroyed by bombs, in the rugged streets. It hurt him to see her beloved country this way. But Budapest was doing much better, and her townhome was well kept. He snorted a little at the frivolous little domestic touches she had added over the years: the flower pots in the window sills, the swirling patterns in the wrought iron gate, the whitewashed front door. Living with that stupid aristocrat for so long had really rubbed off on her, he thought resentfully. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock loudly on the door.

"Gilbert?" Elizabeta asked in surprise, opening it almost immediately. She looked wonderful. She wore her rich mahogany hair in a ponytail and a tight-fitting shirt and shorts. Her face was flushed with exercise and her breath came a little quickly. She was probably doing one of those home video work outs she was so fond of, he thought with a grin. That was his Liz. Always the fighter. "What are you doing here?"

Suddenly his throat was too full for words, and he reached out and crushed her to his chest, effectively smashing the flowers he had gotten for her.

Caught off guard, but still happy to see him, he felt her strong arms hug him back. "I missed you too," she said with her musical laugh, muffled by his Die Aertzen shirt. "What's the occasion?"

"I—can I come in?" He asked, reluctantly letting her go.

"Sure, sure," she said. "I just finished my work-out. Did you get those for me?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, awkwardly holding out the flowers. "You know. Cause chicks love flowers. Even though you're kind of a man. But a girly man."

She smacked him in the shoulder, hard, causing him to wince and laugh at the same time. She was the only one who still didn't let him get away with anything, even though he was sick, and he was glad for it. "Shut up, idióta," she laughed, snatching the flowers away from him. "You even crushed the flowers. Well done."

He flushed and shouldered past her into her house. "Yeah, yeah. Just be glad I graced you with my awesome presence." He forgot how much he loved Liz's home. It was small but well-kept, and overflowing with her personal things: paintings that Italy had sent her, letters from Belgium, little collectibles from all over the world. "By the way, you kind of stink."

"At least I still work out," she replied haughtily, sailing past him to the kitchen. "You want a beer, or something?"

"That was a low blow, Liebe," he called out to her, sinking down onto the couch. "Yes, I want a beer. Who the hell do you think I am?"

"You're awfully energetic today," she remarked, plopping down next to him. She popped the top of his beer off and handed him the can.

He sighed deeply. "Yeah, about that, Liz—"

"I was beginning to worry about you a little, actually," she admitted, flushing slightly as she busied herself with opening her own beer. "I was beginning to think that you might be…" She took a shaky breath.

He didn't say anything, but just looked at her sadly, waiting for her beautiful emerald eyes to meet his own. Finally, they did.

"Liz," he began thickly.

Her eyes widened in horror. "No," she said indignantly, unwilling to believe him. "Don't look at me like that, Gil."

He tried to grin and shrugged lightly. "Yeah, well, I'm not as young as I used to be."

"That's not funny," she said, her voice shaking. "Look at how healthy you are right now! You're getting better."

"I think today is a gift," he said quietly, looking at his white hands clenched in his lap. "And I don't mean to waste it." As if on cue, he felt his heart speed up suddenly, and he wasn't sure if it was due to his sickness or the Hungarian woman's presence.

She bit her lip hard, hard enough that she drew blood. "Fuck it, Gil," she said, clenching her fists. "You can't die on me. We've been through too much."

"I know," he said, watching her face try not to crumple. God, she was beautiful. From the wiry muscles in her arms to those strong legs that could easily kick his ass to her soft, soft hair. Even now, even after all she had been through, she was so strong. She always had been. He loved that about her.

Wordlessly, she turned to him and sort of threw herself at him, half in his lap as she hugged him so tightly he felt a little starved for air. But he didn't care. He loved the feeling of her arms around him. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla and almond and sweat that wafted off of her body. He cradled her like a child, as though she were the one dying, and not him. Couldn't he just have this? Just for awhile? He heard a slightly muffled sob escape from the Hungarian woman, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the painful sound. He had only see her cry twice: when she divorced Austria, and when the Berlin Wall fell. Both of those memories were too painful for him right now. Instead, he just held his best friend tightly until she stopped crying.

Looking up at him with red-tinted eyes, she finally asked, "Does Ludwig know?"

"Not yet," Gilbert said with a sigh. "He'll find out soon enough, though. The election is in a few hours. It won't take him long to figure out."

"Dammit," she said, sighing also. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, still closely entwined, before Elizabeta said, "What about Francis and Antonio?"

"They're coming over later today," Gilbert said, running a hand tiredly through his white hair. "I don't want…this…to be a big affair. I just wanted to say good-bye to everyone that I care about. You know?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding.

"Hey, Liz," he said. Now was his chance to tell her how he really felt. He bit his lip nervously but forced himself to man up and face her. "Liz, I have to tell you something else. See—"

A knock on the door startled them both, and Elizabeta jumped up instinctively and ran to get it.

Gilbert groaned, hoping that it wasn't who he thought it was. But a quiet, Austrian voice reached his ears, and he scowled darkly. Fucking aristocrat.

"Hallo, Elizabeta," he heard her ex-husband say in his soft voice. "May I come in?"

"Um…now's not really a good time, Roderich," he heard her say hesitantly, and he grinned.

"Is Germany here?" He asked, and Gilbert could hear the slight frown in his voice. He must've seen Ludwig's car.

"…no, it's Prussia. I mean, Gilbert. You'll just have to come back tomorrow, okay?"

"But I need to tell you something. You see, I'm afraid that—"

Well, Gilbert had had enough of that. With a grunt, he hefted himself off the couch and marched over to the front door. Leaning on Elizabeta lazily, he said, "She said no, specs. Why don't you head on back home now?" He wound his arm around her waist slyly, ignoring the slight squeak of protest.

Violet eyes clashed with red, but the Austrian man didn't seem as usually hostile to the him as normal. "It's good to see you too," he said drily, only the slight dusting of red on his cheeks betraying his resentment. "I see your brother let you outside today."

Gilbert clenched his fists and looked like he was about to take a swing at his fellow Germanic country, but Elizabeta grabbed his arm, tucking it into her own. Turning to smile at Roderich, she said, not unkindly, "I haven't seen Gilbert in a long time, Roddy. I'm sure you understand."

"Right," Roderich said, scrutinizing Gilbert carefully. His eyes lit with understanding, and an almost pitying look passed over his face. "Ah. I see." It's as I suspected, the musician mused, noting the way Gilbert clung to Elizabeta even more tightly than usual. He's finally dying. "Well, good-bye then, Elizabeta. Ah…take care, Pruessen." The two men awkwardly stared at each other, not sure how to end their centuries of enmity and bitterness. How did you say good-bye to someone you had never liked, who had stolen the heart of the woman you loved? Gilbert wondered. At the same time, he knew how much he meant to Elizabeta, so he forced himself to say, "You take care too, specs. Now if you'll excuse us…" He pulled Liz back inside with a wink and slammed the door in his face. Well, maybe it hadn't been the mature thing to do, but that pitying look on the Austrian's face was making him sick to his stomach.

"Gil," Elizabeta half-heartedly scolded, but Gilbert pretended not to hear her as he moved to sit out back in the tiny garden encased by tall brick walls to shield her from the neighbors. It looked like some garden out of a fucking Shakespeare play, it really did. He disapproved.

"Really, Liz?" He asked, fingering a vine of trailing flowers that crept over the walls. "Gott, this place is nauseating."

She ignored the jibe at her garden and put a hand on his arm to get his attention back. "Gil, you can't keep avoiding the issue like this. You should…you should be with Ludwig today."

The Prussian spun on her angrily, his eyes flashing. "I'm not avoiding anything!" He said indignantly. "I know I'm dying, Liz, I can feel it." She flinched when he said the word out loud for the first time. "Gilbird died last night," he added in a smaller voice, inspecting the stones in the garden wall with greater attention than before. "I know, okay, I'm aware. Why can't I spend some time with you before I go? I love you, too, you know," he added, frowning.

Her green eyes widened in surprise, and she stared at him uncertainly, unsure of what kind of love he meant. After all, he did say that he loved her and Ludwig, so maybe it was just platonic… she and Gilbert had never been very much for words. That was Roderich. Gilbert was her best friend, even before Felicks. They had grown up together. Even when he was a complete asshole, which was a lot of the time, she had to admit, there was no one else she trusted or cared about more. Until Roderich came along, and created a rift between them. She knew he hated her marriage to the Austrian, but he only claimed it was because he had lost his favorite hunting partner, and because she looked stupid in girly dresses. But after her divorce, he was the first person she went to, and he didn't care that she cried like a baby in front of him. Instead, in typical Prussian fashion, he suggested that they get a drink. She ended up falling asleep at his place that night, safe and a little less upset in the arms of her best friend. Then came the next war, and the later occupation by the fearsome Soviet Union. She never wanted to remember those days of living in Russia's house. But even then, Gilbert had been there, as often as he could, stealing food for her and taking the beatings that should have been hers when she mouthed off to her superiors and refusing to let her return his coat when it got bitingly cold. And she did the same for him, even when he protested angrily. She closed her eyes against the sudden wave of memories that washed over her, and ignored the tears that pricked at her eyes. No. She would not cry in front of him again. Not when they had so little time left.

"I love you too," she said quietly. She didn't know in what way she meant it, but she did love him, as a friend if nothing else. But Gilbert didn't take it that way.

"Oh, Gott," he said happily, turning from the wall to embrace her. "You don't know how many damn centuries I've been waiting for you to say that." His arms around her shook a little, and it killed her to feel how weak her formerly powerful friend had become. "Elizabeta…" He murmured her name into her hair. Then, suddenly, "Ah, scheisse, we have to go," he cursed. "Francis and Antonio are probably at Lud's house by now…"

"Oh, great," she laughed. "I didn't plan on seeing those two today. I guess I'll change then."

He groaned. "What's wrong with what you're wearing?"

"I'm not going out in a sweaty t-shirt and my running shorts," she said archly, shaking him off to go into her house. "You can just wait."

He sighed gustily but let her go, thinking about what he would say to Antonio and Francis when he got home. It was not a conversation he was looking forward to. He coughed, much harder this time, and his hand came away bloody. For the first time that day, he felt fear creep into his heart. He was not, by nature, a cowardly man. He had faced the prospect of death before. But now…it was definite. I am going to die. I am dying. I will be dead soon. Despite the ache in his chest, he just couldn't believe it. Especially now that his heart was overflowing with warmth from Liz's words. He couldn't stop the huge grin that crossed his features. But it faded again when he thought about how unfair it was that he should finally tell her, and only have her for a few hours. Tch. If only Old Fritz could see him now, in this stupid little garden mooning over his best friend. He had to laugh, and was racked by coughs again for his efforts.

Finally, after a small eternity, Elizabeta poked her head out the back door. "Are we going or not?" She demanded.

"Calm down, woman," he said bossily, fishing the keys out of his pocket. "Alright, let's go."

"Don't tell me what to do," she said playfully, shoving him towards the front door. "Let's hope you can drive better than last time."

"That was one time," he said, unable to contain a laugh. "Everyone knows Italians can't drive, anyway."

As they drove out of Budapest, with Elizabeta sitting next to him and laughing and making fun of him and the trees flying by and the people giving them strange looks, Gilbert found himself thinking that maybe this wasn't such a bad way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did Hungary mean when she said she loved him too? Ah, I dunno. I think she'd be conflicted, honestly. She does love him, but...how do you define love? I ship PruHun and AusHun both really hard, but I wanted to focus more on their friendship than anything. But I want Prussia to be happy, too. Is my girl crush on Hungary showing yet? She's such a boss. I can so see her rocking those awful nineties clothes with her home work out videos like a champ. And yes, Hungary was occupied by the USSR after the war, too.
> 
> German
> 
> Die Aertzen - the doctors (I think). They're a German disco band :D
> 
> Liebe - love
> 
> Hallo - hello
> 
> Pruessen - Prussia
> 
> Gott - God
> 
> Scheisse - shit
> 
> Hungarian
> 
> Idióta - idiot


	3. Chapter 3

"GILBERT!"

"Antonio, get off me," Gilbert grumbled as his best friend flung himself at him the minute he crossed into Ludwig's house. "You're as touchy feely as ever, I see." He pulled back and grinned at the Spaniard, who looked delighted to see him.

"I've missed you, amigo," Antonio said simply, beaming. "Ah, Hungary, it is good to see you too," he added warmly to Elizabeta, kissing her on the cheek. "Come in, come in!"

"You can't invite other people into their own home," Ludwig sighed heavily as he watched his older brother walk in, although he smiled when he saw him tugging along Elizabeta. "Although your own friends invited themselves in, so I shouldn't be surprised…"

"You sound like an old man, mon ami," someone said from behind the German. Gilbert glanced over and saw a lanky Frenchman step out from behind him. "Allo, Prusse," he said gently to the Prussian, who regarded him uncertainly.

Sure, World War II had ended nearly five decades ago, but things hadn't been quite the same since. His country had occupied part of Germany, after all. And Germany had invaded France. As much as Gilbert knew in his heart that a nation's loyalties could not always be brought in line with their people's wishes, he still felt betrayed. But now, it was his last day on earth, and more than anything he wanted to forgive him.

"Hey, Frankreich," he said, letting go of Elizabeta's hand to hug him tightly. "You look even more like a chick than the last time I saw you."

"Long hair was popular in the 1980's," Francis said indifferently, shrugging. "I will not apologize for manière."

"Right," Gilbert said, rolling his eyes. "Hey, West, get us some beers, will ya? We gotta have adult talk now."

"Bruder—" Ludwig began, looking extremely vexed, but the albino waved him off.

"Beers!" He said imperiously, leading his guests into the small living room that faced the Hamburg street. "And none of that American crap you've been drinking lately either, don't think I haven't noticed. And could you get us some food too?" He ignored whatever reply Ludwig growled and turned to face his friends, who seated themselves comfortably on the couch across from him. Elizabeta slipped into the armchair next to him, her green eyes watching him apprehensively.

"So, mon cher, what is the occasion?" Francis asked nonchalantly, but those clear blue eyes looked worried. "Or did you just miss moi?"

"He missed us," Antonio sang, beaming. "Didn't you, Gilbert? Ah, how cute—"

"No, you assholes," Gilbert said irritably, although he tried not to smile. "I…there's going to be an election today. In fact," he swallowed, "I think it already took place." It was scheduled to take place at three p.m., but he hadn't bothered to check the television. He didn't much care to see his own people vote to dissolve him, even if they didn't know it.

"And?" Antonio asked blankly, tilting his head to the side.

But Francis stopped what he was doing, which was stroking his luscious golden hair, and looked at Gilbert very seriously. "What did they vote on, Gilbert?" The Frenchman asked in a low voice.

"On—on the problem of German reunification," he managed, looking away quickly. "I…they voted yes."

"That's wonderful, Gil!" Antonio said obliviously. "Your country will be so much stronger now!"

Gilbert winced. What country? He thought blithely. He felt weirdly detached from the situation as he watched Francis close his eyes and rest his face in his hands. Antonio turned to him and said, "What—"

"The country of Prussia is being dissolved, Antonio," Elizabeta said softly, reaching over to pat him on the knee. "Today."

Antonio's eyes widened in horror, and he looked back and forth between the others as if certain that they were playing a joke on him. "No," he murmured to himself. "Gil, no, you can't. That's not…but…"

"Yeah, shit happens," Gilbert said, bitterness seeping into his voice for the first time that day. He knew the others were upset, but Gott, didn't they think he was a little upset too?

"But then, shouldn't you have died back in 1947*, after the war? It doesn't make sense—" The Spaniard said desperately, gesturing madly.

"There was still a separate German state," Gilbert said with a shrug, feeling cold all of a sudden. Was Russia actually responsible for keeping him alive after the war? It was a horrible thought. He hugged himself tightly. "But now…even my culture is dying. Old Prussian hasn't been spoken in years. There isn't a power struggle between states now. It's…better this way. Better for Ludwig."

"What's better for me?" His younger brother asked as he walked in with beer and sandwich materials. He sat them down on the table and looked at the four older nations, frowning when they didn't answer. "Bruder? Why are you being so secretive?"

At that moment, Gilbert felt his heart clench painfully, so much so that an agonized gasp actually escaped him, despite his best efforts. He doubled over, coughing until he thought his throat was on fire.

"Are you alright?" Ludwig asked, sitting down next to his brother, waiting patiently for him to stop.

"Oh, West," Gilbert said finally, wiping the traces of blood from his mouth and turning to smile grimly at his younger brother, who looked properly horrified. "You know, for a pretty sharp kid, you turned out kinda dumb."

Ludwig scowled, looking about five years old again. "I don't know what you're saying," he said flatly.

"I think we'll go out back for a moment," Francis said helpfully, forcefully pulling Antonio off the couch. "Would you like to join us, Elizabeta?"

"I think so, yes," the Hungarian said, with a tender look at Ludwig.

"What was all that about?" Ludwig asked, watching them go. His blond eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. He didn't like it when he didn't understand what was going on. He had always been like that, even as a small child, Gilbert reflected. Always the little control freak.

"I don't know how else to tell you this, bro," Gilbert said, clapping Ludwig on the shoulder like he was about to give him one of his infamous pep talks. "But uh, I'm dying."

The look on his face was terrible. Gil never wanted to see him look that way again. He looked like he just had the wind knocked out of him. His eyes widened and then narrowed, as if he was still trying to figure something out. "But that—but how—"

"I technically don't exist anymore," Gilbert said monotonously. He let his hand slide off of Ludwig's shoulder as he bent down to grab the remote and turn the TV on. An excited-looking German reporter stood outside of the chancellor's office with a microphone, spouting out rapid German as she told the audience that yes, the two German states were officially reunited, that the votes had just been counted, that everything would be better now. Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. He was sick of being sad. "Fuck this," he announced, so loudly that Ludwig jumped a little.

He threw the remote as hard as he could at the wall. "Come on, Ludwig. Let's go to a bar or something. This is fucking depressing." He walked into the next room and hollered, "Okay, kids, who wants to go to the beach?"

Elizabeta, Francis, and Antonio were huddled in the entryway of the apartment, talking in hushed tones. Gilbert pretended not to see the tears in Antonio's eyes. They turned, startled. "Prusse, are you sure—" Francis began uncertainly, but Gilbert cut him off. He could feel Ludwig's warm presence behind him but his brother didn't say anything and he didn't want to look at him, so he announced, "I don't really wanna stay here on my last day, no offense, Lud. I wanna go see die Nordsee again before I—before I go. Remember, Lud? I used to take you there all the time when you were little," he said with a forced laugh, turning to look at his little brother. But Ludwig stood there in his perfectly clean apartment with his head bowed, clenching his fists so tightly that his pale hands were completely white.

"Okay, Gil," Elizabeta said with a soft smile, stepping forward to take his hand. "We'll go."

He cracked a smile. "Good," he said simply. "You guys are depressing the hell out of me. Knock it off, okay?"

His friends nodded. "Well, then, let's go," Gilbert said, when no one appeared to move. He took his keys out again, but Francis snatched them promptly.

"Non, I want you to be able to enjoy the drive, which you won't with Ludwig constantly nagging about your poor driving," his friend said loftily, holding them over the slightly shorter man's head. "Stop arguing and get in the car."

"Fine," Gilbert said sullenly, secretly glad that his friend gave him an excuse not to drive. He wouldn't admit it, but he had almost been sick on the drive back to Hamburg, and he definitely was not going to puke in front of his friends. "Let's go!" With a whoop that was at odds with his sickly demeanor, he bounced outside to Ludwig's car, dragging Antonio and Elizabeta with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Like I said in the intro, the state of Prussia was formally dissolved in 1947 to prevent the military power from rising up again. But as Germany was still divided into two separate states, Prussia still exists as the Eastern bloc. In Hetalia-verse, anyway.
> 
> Spanish
> 
> Amigo - friend
> 
> French
> 
> Mon ami - my friend
> 
> Allo - hello
> 
> Prusse - Prussia
> 
> Maniere - fashion
> 
> Mon cher - my dear
> 
> Non - no
> 
> German
> 
> Frankreich - France
> 
> Bruder - brother
> 
> die Nordsee - the North Sea, located right by Hamburg!


	4. Chapter 4

Gilbert had to admit, this was the best idea he had in a long time. Okay, vomiting out the window as Francis drove like a madman was not part of the plan, but all things considered, he would take it. He was with the four people he loved most in the world, and he could pretend like things were okay for just a little bit.

"This is perfect," Gilbert crowed, standing on the massive cliff overlooking the roaring ocean below. Hell, he didn't care if the North Sea wasn't as popular with tourists as, say, Lake Constance. It was chilly and rugged and dangerous, and he loved it. It thrilled him. "Hey, Francey-pants, remember when Sweden and Norway and Denmark used to come through here in those dragon boats? Those were fucking awesome!"

"Oui, so awesome," Francis said sarcastically. He stood on the Prussian's right, staring moodily out at the jagged rocks below. He had no idea why Gil loved this place so much. It reminded him of some haunted island out of one of Arthur's beloved Romantic novels. It was wild and sort of uncivilized, but then, looking at his friend who had used to ravage parts of Central Europe, he thought that was rather suitable. "You didn't have to suffer their raids."

Gilbert turned to grin at him. "Bro, that was hundreds of years ago," he said, socking the Frenchman in the arm.

Francis lifted an elegant eyebrow at him. "So it was. I suppose it is about time to move on from these things, non?"

Gilbert nodded, and he knew then that they had forgiven each other for the past war. "Yeah," he said quietly.

"Gil! We went and got some food," Elizabeta announced, walking over to their spot by the cliff. The brunette carried with her a basket full of fresh Swiss cheeses, hearty bread, and sliced meat. She helped Antonio spread out the blanket a few feet away from the edge, so the group could enjoy the fiercely beautiful winter afternoon. It was quite chilly with the wind blowing off the sea, but if it was what Gilbert wanted…

"Tonio, remember when I left Lud with you here that one time, and I came back and you were holding him over the cliff!" Gilbert laughed loudly, leaning back into Elizabeta's lap. The laugh cost him a painful cough, but it was worth it to see the irritated expression on Ludwig's face.

"Das war nicht so lustig," the German muttered, aggressively spreading some cheese on his hunk of bread.

"You're not still mad about that, are you?" Antonio asked anxiously. "You said you wanted to fly, so I held you up above the water, but then you started screaming—"

"You should have known better than to comply with a child's wishes! I could have died!" Ludwig exclaimed angrily.

"Nah, you wouldn't have," Gilbert said dismissively, closing his eyes against the bright sun that had just come out from behind the clouds. "Nations…are stronger…than most…" He sighed a little. When he opened his eyes again, everyone was leaning over him anxiously, and their words were loud in his ears, but incomprehensible.

"What?" He mumbled, disoriented. His ears sounded like he was underwater. Elizabeta leaned over him, cradling his head in her lap. Her red lips were moving but he couldn't figure out what she was saying. He reached a shaking hand up and brushed her lips, smiling at the softness.

His hearing suddenly returned with a vengeance, and four worried voices assaulted his ringing head.

"—passed out in the middle of a sentence—"

"—eyes rolled back into your head, it scared the hell out of me—"

"—knew he was too sick to come out here—"

He sat up slowly, batting away Elizabeta's hands as she tried to help him. "Did I…pass out?"

"Si," Antonio said anxiously, his green eyes wide and not a little bright with tears. "I thought you were dead, Gil!" He grabbed Gilbert by the shoulders. "Don't do that again!"

Gilbert chuckled. "Sorry," he apologized, shaking his head. "I didn't even realize…it was like I just fell asleep…" He trailed off, seeing the pained looks in their eyes. "Please don't be sad," he blurted out. He turned to Ludwig, who looked like he was about to explode with all the emotions he was trying so hard to contain. "Lud, bitte," he said brokenly, tearing up a little. "Don't make that face. I can't stand it." He hated that face. It was the face he made when the wall went up, and he thought he would never see his brother again. He reached out a hand to tentatively stroke his cheek in a rare display of emotion. Germans weren't fond of emotions in general, but he would make a slight exception today.

He managed to stand up with Francis and Antonio supporting him, even though he growled at them to leave him alone. They didn't listen, being the bastards they were.

"I'm gonna miss you guys," he said, turning to face them. They watched their friend carefully as he stood with his back to the North Sea, his entire form in shadow as the sun went down behind him, creating a silver lining along his outline. "You're the best things to happen to me." He looked at Francis, who looked as flamboyant as ever in the latest style from Paris, tight-fitting trousers and a loose, patterned shirt. His blue eyes misted up in emotion when Gilbert came over and hugged him. "Even you, you damn Frenchie. You're annoying as hell, but you were there when it counted." He felt Francis' strong arms close around him.

"Mon ami," he whispered, "this isn't the end. I promise you that. I know you gave up on your beliefs after the Crusades, but…I have to believe…there is something for us after this life."

Gilbert pulled out of the embrace to look at him strangely. "You really think so, Francis? Even for us nations?"

Francis nodded, smiling slightly. "My Joan told me so. I believe her, if nothing else."

"Well, that makes me feel better," Gilbert said with a dry laugh. Next, he turned to Antonio. "Toni…"

"Gil, you know I don't do well with speeches," the Spaniard muttered, looking uncannily like his Italian boyfriend as he frowned. "Please don't do this right now." He couldn't look at him. His eyes were full of tears. The former pirate clenched his fists tightly.

"You've been the best," Gilbert said, laughing lowly. "You were always there to drink, even if you couldn't hold your liquor worth a damn."

"Si, por supuesto," Antonio said. He leaned forward and crushed Gilbert to his chest.

"Agh, not so hard," Gilbert winced. For a shorter guy, Toni was pretty strong.

"Sorry," Antonio apologized, stepping back quickly with his hands raised, as if he were afraid of breaking him.

Gilbert didn't look at Elizabeta and Ludwig yet. He turned back to look out at the cold sea. The temperature was rapidly dropping, and he felt the cold start to settle down deep in his bones. God, he loved this spot so much. He had so many good memories with Ludwig here. Ludwig had always preferred a warmer climate—an Italian climate, he thought with a smirk—but he lived for the days when his big bruder would take him away from his work and they could pretend that they were just two brothers and not two of the strongest empires the world had ever seen.

He heard Elizabeta step over to him and slip her arms around his waist. He felt so thin in her arms, but she didn't comment on it. She stood on her tiptoes to rest her chin on his shoulders. "What're you thinking about, Poroszország?"

"How awesome I am," the albino replied, enjoying the warmth of her presence.

"Don't lie to me," she murmured.

"I'm not ready to go," he admitted in a low voice. The others turned away to give them a little privacy. He reached behind him to take her hands in his own. They had held hands when they were younger, of course, but this was different. They clung to each other with a new kind of desperation. He felt her nails digging into his skin, as if she could anchor him right here, and he welcomed the pain.

She didn't console him. She didn't tell him it was going to be alright. She kissed his waxy cheek and said, "I know, szerelem."

Suddenly, the albino gasped in pain suddenly, and sank to his knees, accidentally bringing Elizabeta down with him. "Gil?" She asked in alarm, stepping back. The others crowded around him immediately.

"Bruder?" Ludwig asked in a very small voice, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. "Gilbert? Ah, scheisse, you look terrible—"

"And you're an uptight workaholic," Gilbert coughed, grinning impudently up at his brother. "Hey, Luddy, do me a favor?"

"Ja," Ludwig said in a hoarse voice. He knelt by his brother, who sat back on his heels and sighed deeply.

"Can you…" He coughed slightly. "Can you bury me with Old Fritz? In Potsdam?"

Ludwig nodded tersely. "Of course," he said quietly, reaching out to adjust the iron cross that his brother always wore. Gilbert flopped back down on the quilt with a heavy sigh. "I think he'd appreciate that."

"He'd better," Gilbert said feebly. Black spots started to appear in the corners of his eyes. "Damn Fritz. He left me with an entire empire to manage by myself. I was just a kid. I didn't know any better. I did what I thought was best for you, for me—"

"You did fine," Ludwig interrupted. "Great, even. I turned out pretty well, didn't I?" He laughed weakly.

"Ja," Gilbert agreed, smiling fondly up at his brother. "Sehr toll. Ich bin stolz auf dich, Ludwig." He sighed deeply and looked upwards, at the gathering storm clouds. He came into this world on a stormy day, and he thought it fitting that he would leave on one. The sky was a perfect shade of Prussian blue, dark and deep and powerful. He smiled. "Look after our people, West."

"You know I will," Ludwig said, gripping his brother's hand tightly.

He thought he heard Antonio start to cry, but his hearing was starting to get all fuzzy again. He felt Elizabeta running her hands through his silver hair, stroking it like she used to do when they were little and he wouldn't fall asleep in their makeshift fort because of the—sometimes—imaginary invaders that were coming. He turned his head to look up into Elizabeta's startling green eyes, and saw a glimpse of the girl that he had first met as a boy several hundred years ago: strong, but heartbreakingly vulnerable. "Hogy szeretlek," he whispered, and even though his Hungarian was shaky at the best, she knew what he meant.

"Ich liebe dich auch," she said, her lovely eyes filling with tears despite her best efforts. She leaned down to kiss him on the lips, sweetly and chastely, and pulled back again. He turned to look at Francis and Antonio and smiled. "I think I'm going," he said simply. A thin trickle of blood started to stream from his mouth, but he didn't notice. "But it's not so bad." Predictably, he felt a sudden lurch in his chest, and started to shake. "Ah, fuck," he muttered, coughing for the millionth time that day.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder began to rumble. Ludwig turned from his brother for half of a second to look out at the sky. Storm clouds began to gather over their small group. "We need to go," Ludwig told the others firmly. "Help me move him."

"No!" Gilbert cried, starting to sit up again. "Don't go." Reluctantly, Ludwig sank back down to his side. "Of course not," he murmured. And then, the big German man began to cry.

"Don't," Gilbert said in a tired voice. "This has been a good day. It really has. It was bound to happen eventually…"

"Ah, Gilbert, your courage always impressed me. And infuriated me," Francis muttered. He couldn't believe his friend's casual attitude, even now. Damn that man's insurmountable pride, he thought.

"Heh," the Prussian chuckled, pleased by the compliment. He coughed one last time and looked at each of them, smiling despite the pain in his chest as his heart slowed down. "Don't forget me. Promise. I'm going to annoy all of you from wherever comes after this, you hear?" He reached out and grabbed Antonio and Elizabeta by the hand. He coughed slightly and looked back up at the sky, past the worried faces of the people he loved most. "I'm gonna go see Vati now," he mumbled. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

Ludwig looked at him in surprise. He almost never mentioned their father, Germania. "I hope…I hope I made him proud." He squeezed his eyes shut against the burst of pain as his heart finally stopped, and Antonio and Elizabeta felt his once strong hands go limp in theirs.

He was gone.

"Oh, God," Antonio cried. The Spaniard knelt over his friend and began to cry onto his chest with loud, heartrending sobs. "Gilbert…"

Francis didn't say anything. He just turned and put his arm around Elizabeta and pulled her to his side, burying his face in her long tresses. For once, she didn't hit him.

It took almost an hour to get Ludwig to move. When he finally did, he carried his brother himself back to the car, cradling him like a child. Indeed, it would have been almost comical how tiny Gilbert looked next to his hulk of a younger brother. But none of them were laughing right now. For now, they just tried to hold themselves together, because Gilbert Beilschmidt, larger than life, swearing, frequently drunk, often violent, compassionate, eccentric Gilbert Beilschmidt, was dead. The Kingdom of Prussia was gone at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to put in some humor. But Prussia just breaks my heart.
> 
> Also, as romantic as I think the idea of nations fading away when they die is, I think that since they're-sort of-humans, they would leave bodies behind. And I just really really wanted Prussia to be buried with Old Fritz- Frederick the Great of Prussia (1740–1786), that is. He's mentioned in Hetalia but he's KIND OF A HUGE DEAL. He was around back when Prussia was just rising to power and starting to compete with the big names like Austria and Russia and such.
> 
> And I know that Ancient Rome is the Italy bros' grandfather, but I think Germania is the Beilschmidt's father...mostly because of arkspaddedroom's comic about "Vati" raising a little Prussia and HRE. I guess grandfather would be more accurate, but what I'm getting at is that they're related. Ya feel me?
> 
> French
> 
> Oui - yes
> 
> Non - no
> 
> Mon ami - my friend
> 
> German
> 
> Das war nicht so lustig - that wasn't so funny.
> 
> Bitte - please
> 
> Bruder - brother
> 
> Ja - yes
> 
> Scheisse - shit
> 
> Sehr toll. Ich bin stolz auf dich - Very good. I am proud of you.
> 
> Ich liebe dich auch - I love you too
> 
> Vati - Dad
> 
> Spanish
> 
> Si - yes
> 
> Por supuesto - of course
> 
> Hungarian
> 
> Poroszország - Prussia
> 
> szerelem - love
> 
> Hogy szeretlek - I love you


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is by the German/Prussian poet George Herwegh, written in 1853. He was very patriotic, as a good German should be. I think Gil would have liked him. The title of the poem is The Song of the Hussar.

The car ride back to Hamburg was the longest in any of their lives. Funeral arrangements were made, the other nations were notified. A week later, they found themselves gathered in Potsdam, standing outside the magnificent Sanssouci building, where Gilbert's beloved Old Fritz was interred. Somehow, they knew not to wear black. Francis, Antonio, and Ludwig wore a dark blue suit and tie, and Elizabeta wore a knee-length dark blue dress that Gilbert had never seen before, but likely would have approved of. Only a few other nations showed up—tall, quiet Sweden, Belgium came mostly for Spain and Hungary, and America, dragging England along, to pay his respects to the man who had taught him how to fight. Austria showed up at the last moment, looking very out of place, but the grateful look on Elizabeta's face made it worthwhile. The Italy brothers came to see their old friend as well. Feliciano tightly gripped Ludwig's arm throughout the service, because the poor man looked like he was about to unravel at the seams. It was a small ceremony, but a beautiful one. It was Catholic, as a final homage to the former Teutonic Knight, but the priest also read some words from George Herwegh, one of the few poets that the Prussian had actually enjoyed.

"Courage swells my heart and breast,

I wield my steel on high,

And were a plume my helmet's crest,

A general were I.

The musket flashes at our side,

Death flashes in our hand;

Now here, now there, we swiftly ride,

'Tis for our fatherland."

It seemed suitable for Gilbert, with his love of pomp and military circumstance, even though, for once, he was not riding out to war. The ceremony concluded, and the small gathering of people moved outside, into the bright sunlight of the cool October day. The storm from yesterday had already passed; sunlight shamelessly poured down on the grieving friends.

Elizabeta watched the others with a dull ache. She missed him already. It hurt like crazy. It felt like there was a gaping hole inside her chest. The sun continued to beat down on them mercilessly, oblivious to their suffering. Shouldn't there have been rain and lightning and violent emotion? Not this stifled bullshit. Gilbert would never have wanted that, though. He was loud and impulsive and boisterous, but he wouldn't want them to wait around for him. She gripped the thin silver necklace that he had given her for her wedding gift to Roderich, a tiny porcelain bird, and closed her eyes against the avalanche of emotions that threatened to consume her.

Francis made his way over to where Ludwig stood, talking in a low voice with Austria and Italy. "Ludwig," Francis said softly, putting a hand on the German's shoulder. The young country turned around with an empty look in his eyes. "Why don't you stay with me for a few days? You might like France."

"Nein, I think I will stay here," he said tiredly, his eyes sweeping over the grandeur of the palace where his brother now lay. He looked like he would never move from the spot.

"I insist," Francis said with rare force. "It would be a pleasure to have you."

He stared thoughtfully at his brother's friend before nodding. "Ve, I will go with you too," Feliciano said brightly. "You need friends at a time like this."

A few feet away, Antonio turned to Elizabeta with a forced smile. "What about you, Liz?" He asked the Hungarian woman. "What will you do?"

"I think…" She bit her lip, toying with the hem of her dress anxiously. "I think I'm going to take off from work a couple days. I think I'll go explore."

"Like in the good old days?" Antonio asked with a gentle laugh. She smiled at him. Both of their eyes were red from crying, but they had made it through the ceremony, at least.

"Yeah," she said. A loud cry distracted them both and they turned around to see a pair of children running by them at full speed.

"Come back here!" A younger boy cried, chasing a slightly taller child. "Mutti says you have to come in for lunch!"

"Nein, I'm going off to war!" The other child replied gleefully. He was an adorable little boy, all gangly limbs and tangled blond hair and giant brown eyes. "You should come with me!"

"I want to go home," the other boy said petulantly.

His brother, or cousin, or friend, turned around and appraised him very seriously. He put his tiny, chubby hands on the smaller boy's shoulder and said very solemnly, "This is serious business, Heinrich. This is war, you understand? Now, are you going to be my soldier, or not?"

"Yeah," the younger boy sniffled. "I will."

"Gut," his friend cried happily, raising an imaginary sword in the air. "Now, let's go! We have to invade Poland!"

Elizabeta winced at the choice of words, but a boisterous laugh made her turn around. Antonio was laughing. She marveled for a moment, and then became mad at him for his insensitivity. "Toni, what are you doing?" She hissed, looking nervously over at Ludwig.

"I'm sorry," the Spaniard said immediately, lowering his voice. "I just…he just reminded me of Prusia," he said wistfully. He looked down at his shiny black shoes, overcome with emotion again.

Despite the heavy weight in her heart, she found herself smiling too. "Yeah, he kind of does," she agreed, as she watched the children race off into the busy street. She wondered where their mothers were, if they knew that their sons were playing in a dangerous street. But she reckoned that she and Gil had done the same when they were younger, and they turned out alright. She turned to the tanned man, who was still chuckling a bit, and said, "Let's get out of here, Toni. We should go to the places Gilbert always wanted to see. It'll be like having him with us, in a way."

The skin around the Spaniard's eyes crinkled in merriment as a slight smile broke across his face. "I like that idea," he agreed softly, looking out at the gathered crowd of nations. "I think he would, too." He slipped her hand into his companionably, and they slipped away from the crowd. "One last adventure. For Gilbert."

"For Gilbert," Elizabeta agreed. She cast a final glance behind her at the Sanssouci building, and whispered a good-bye to her old friend. Ich liebe dich. The wind carried her unspoken words away, but she liked to think that a certain albino could hear them, and that he was laughing at her for being a sentimental woman. Immer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part with the little boys was partially inspired by Lady Charity's fic, Hello Hurricane. Okay, if anyone needs me, I'll be crying over the dissolution of a certain Germanic kingdom. Why am I a history major again...
> 
> German
> 
> Nein - no
> 
> Mutti - Mommy
> 
> Gut - good
> 
> Ich liebe dich - I love you
> 
> Immer - always
> 
> Spanish
> 
> Prusia - Prussia

**Author's Note:**

> German:
> 
> Gott - God
> 
> Scheisse - shit
> 
> Ja - yes
> 
> Was - what
> 
> Warum - why
> 
> Mutter - mother
> 
> Spanish-
> 
> Hola - hello
> 
> Quien es este - who is this
> 
> Prusia - Prussia
> 
> Si - yes


End file.
